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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23687629">The Great Escape</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/WizardSandwich/pseuds/WizardSandwich'>WizardSandwich</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Prowl Week [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Developing Friendships, Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 17:02:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,061</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23687629</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/WizardSandwich/pseuds/WizardSandwich</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Day 3 - Law/Crime </p><p>There are worse crimes than abandoning a function. Too bad the Senate doesn't see it that way.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jazz &amp; Prowl, Jazz &amp; Ratchet (Transformers)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Prowl Week [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1703245</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Prowl Week</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Great Escape</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>posting a bit early yet again bc i'm a gremlin</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Abandoning one’s function is a crime. It is one of the worst crimes a Cybertronian—a cold-constructed Cybertronian—can commit. For Enforcers, made to protect and serve and help, it is a crime worth death.</p><p>So none of them will understand why Prowl is doing what he’s doing. They will not understand packing up his meagre possessions in the middle of the dark cycle. They will not understand his thoughts or his desire or his panic.</p><p>Prowl stuffs another holoframe into his subspace, barely pausing to look at Tumbler and himself standing side by side as he turns it off. Part of him wants to throw it out. Another part of him, the sentimental part, wins out, because if he leaves he’ll never see Tumbler again.</p><p>He steps away from the shelf. His hab is empty now, everything either in his subspace or thrown out. Some of it, he’d given to Tumbler. He’d looked at him oddly when Prowl had given him the crate, but he’d promised to care for Prowl’s crystals.</p><p>“Ready to go?”</p><p>Prowl turns to face Jazz. The mech’s visor is bright, but he considers Prowl carefully. It is, all things considered, fair. They hardly knew each other. The only reason they’d met was because Prowl had caught him buying an illegal vessel. Jazz had been lucky Prowl wanted out too.</p><p>“I believe so,” Prowl says, lowering his doorwings in something close to submission. He hopes it will put Jazz at ease. “I’ve never had many possessions.”</p><p>“I can tell,” Jazz says.</p><p>Jazz slips out the doorway, barely looking over his shoulder at Prowl. “Come on,” he says. “Or I’ll leave you behind.”</p><p>It’s an idle threat. Probably. Jazz was too kind to do that, even despite his wariness of Prowl.</p><p>Prowl steps after him. Jazz looks around the halls as they walk, clearly on edge. His whole frame is tense, though it isn’t wholly obvious. They make it out of the building without anyone stopping them. Outside they have to be more careful. Iacon has no shortage of cameras and watchers.</p><p>Jazz gestures him toward a dark alley. He slips inside, not waiting for Prowl to follow after him. Prowl has to pull his doorwings close together, his full span unable to fit into the alley.</p><p>“We’re going to the Dead End,” Jazz says. “I’ve got a medic friend who wants to give us a once over before we go.”</p><p>“You trust him?” Prowl asks, stepping as quickly as he can in the darkness. He is practically blind, unlike Jazz, who clearly has modifications.</p><p>Jazz shrugs. “I trust him more than you,” he says.</p><p>“Understandable.” Prowl nods despite Jazz not looking at him.  “I would not readily trust me either.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Jazz says, noncommittedly. “How long until they notice you’re missing?”</p><p>“I had just gotten off shift when you arrived. I have at least ten joors,” Prowl says.</p><p>“Good.” Jazz sounds relieved. He has every right to be. He’d barely had time to plan around Prowl’s existence. If it wasn’t for Prowl’s savings and Jazz’s knowledge of illegal energon distributors, then Jazz would not have permitted Prowl to come along at all.</p><p>They wind through the streets. Jazz always picks the worst alleys, where there are not cameras at all. Prowl does not live far from the Dead End, just far enough to be in the nicer part of Iacon.</p><p>“Keep your doorwings close,” Jazz tells him, as they step out onto a street that boarders the unofficial beginning of the Dead End’s district. “Stay quiet. Don’t let anyone touch you.”</p><p>Prowl accepts the orders without complaint. Jazz knew far more about the functioning of Dead End than Prowl ever would.</p><p>“Ratchet’s right in the center. Our ship’s out on the edge of Iacon.”</p><p>It takes them less than half a joor to come to the derelict building than Jazz claims is a clinic. He knocks on the door. It takes another breem before a red mech opens the door. Ratchet of Vaporex, the most esteemed medic on Cybertron.</p><p>“You’re late,” he says to Jazz.</p><p>Jazz waves him off, “Sorry, Ratch. I had to pick up Prowl.”</p><p>Ratchet moves to the side, letting Jazz and Prowl step through. “The enforcer?” Ratchet asks. “I thought you’d leave him to rust.”</p><p>“It wouldn’t have been right,” Jazz says. “Everyone deserves a chance to get out.”</p><p>Ratchet turns an examining optic toward Prowl. Prowl doesn’t know what he’s looking for. It makes him feel uncomfortable but he doesn’t show it, keeping his doorwings close and lowered. Jazz had never explained his order. He does not know if it still applies.</p><p>“You’re the investigator that Orion mentioned, right?” he asks.</p><p>“I don’t know what Orion Pax sees fit to mention,” Prowl says. In the corner of his optic, he can see Jazz hop onto a medical berth. “But perhaps.”</p><p>Ratchet nods, turning to a tray. He pulls out a diagnostic scanner, the high-tech kind that only the best medics can afford.</p><p>“Alright. I’m going to do a basic checkup on the both of you. You’re not going anywhere off of Cybertron until I can say you’re both healthy.” Ratchet’s tone doesn’t leave room for argument, but Prowl wonders if Jazz would even listen to him anyway.</p><p>He gestures for Jazz to hold out his arm. Jazz retracts the panel covering his diagnostic ports as he does and Ratchet plugs the scanner in without hesitation. They both trust one another.</p><p>In less than a moment, the scanner beeps. Ratchet’s expression tightens as he looks at it. “You haven’t been taking your additives?”</p><p>Jazz shakes his helm, “Can’t afford them.”</p><p>Prowl thinks of his credit chip stored away in his subspace. He almost offers to buy some for Jazz, but he reminds himself that they’re leaving as soon as they’re done here.</p><p>“I can give you some of mine for the road, but I can’t afford to replace my whole stock,” Ratchet says.</p><p>“I can,” Prowl says, digging out the credit chip. “I have over thirty orbital cycles worth of savings on this. It should be enough to pay for it.”</p><p>Ratchet and Jazz stare at him. They both look a bit stunned. The looks make Prowl uncomfortable and his doorwings move even lower.</p><p>“Did you just not have a life?” Jazz asks, a bit insensitively.</p><p>Prowl looks down, a bit embarrassed by the accusation, “I didn’t have anything to spend it on. I spent most of my time working cases. If not that, then I spent time with the pathologists.”</p><p>Ratchet hums, plucking the credit chip from Prowl’s servo. “I’ll transfer the credits. I’ll be back.”</p><p>“So, a pathologist, huh?” Jazz asks, as Ratchet leaves. “Is that what you wanted to be?”</p><p>“Yes,” Prowl confesses, so quietly he’s not sure he’s heard. It would have an infraction with the Enforcers.</p><p>“You couldn’t transfer in? It was still part of the Enforcers, right?” Jazz asks. Prowl wonders if this poking and prodding has some purpose. They both know Prowl can’t and won’t go back now.</p><p>“I was constructed to catch criminals. My entire frame is perfected for speed and power.” Prowl offlines his optics, thinks of everything that has ever been said to him. He thinks of, <em>You were built for this, Prowl. This is your purpose. </em>“I wasn’t meant to be that kind of mech. My duty was to serve and protect, not to be happy with my function.”</p><p>Jazz nods, “I get that. Staniz was a shipyard.”</p><p>“That was what you were forced to do?” Prowl asks.</p><p>Jazz says, “I probably had more freedom than you did. I could pursue music because it was there, but we both know how the Senate treats artists. So, yeah, I worked on ships.”</p><p>Prowl understands. While the Golden Age of art and literature was often preached about, the Senate didn’t appreciate those making new art. They saw it as a rebellion against their system. Often, it was. There was not much to say about the “perfection of function” when the people suffered for it.</p><p>“Is that what you want to do when we leave?” Prowl inquires. “Be a musician?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Jazz says, shifting. He pulls his legs onto the medical berth, folding them beneath himself. “I’ve got a Aghartan electro-bass on the ship.”</p><p>“You will have to show me it. I’m not familiar with instruments,” Prowl admits. He’d never had a passion for them, but he wonders if that’s just because he’d never had the time or interest in pursuing them.</p><p>“I can teach you how to play some chords,” Jazz offers. “It’s not hard, just takes some basic knowledge.”</p><p>“I’d like that.”</p><p>Ratchet returns to silence, though companionable where it wouldn’t have been before. Ratchet hands the credit chip to Prowl and he slips it back into his subspace. In his other servo, he has an energon cube. He practically shoves it at Jazz.</p><p>“Drink,” Ratchet commands.</p><p>Jazz accepts the cube, sipping at it. Prowl watches Ratchet pull boxes of additives out of his subspace and set them on the berth next to Jazz.</p><p>“These should last you a Cybertronian orbital cycle,” Ratchet says. “That’s more than enough time to find someone to sell you some more.”</p><p>“Got it, Ratchet,” Jazz says.</p><p>Ratchet turns to Prowl then. “Alright, your turn.”</p><p>Prowl nods as Ratchet picks up the scanner again, opening the panel that allows access to his diagnostic port. He doesn’t move until Ratchet looks down at the screen.</p><p>“You’re good,” Ratchet declares. “Unless there’s a reason you think you wouldn’t be. I don’t have your medical records.”</p><p>Prowl shakes his helm. His processor wasn’t the most secure sometimes, causing crashes that resulted in or could be caused by emotional outbursts. But it wasn’t an issue that had ever required medical attention, save for when it fried circuits. There just wasn’t much they were going to be able to do about that in space.</p><p>“Nothing relevant,” Prowl says.</p><p>Ratchet raises an optical ridge, “What do you define as ‘relevant?’”</p><p>“Something that can be prevented or fixed. The error with my processor can’t be fixed,” Prowl reports dutifully. “It’s a structural and an internal issue.”</p><p>Ratchet sighs, turning to Jazz. “You may not be fond of him,” he says sternly, “but keep an optic on him.”</p><p>Jazz smiles, setting down his empty cube. “I think I might like him more than I thought.”</p><p>Ratchet almost looks puzzled at that, clearly wondering what had changed. Then he shakes his helm.</p><p>“That’s a relief.” Ratchet faces Prowl again. “Be careful.”</p><p>Prowl dips his helm in deferment, “Of course, Medic Ratchet. I will do my best.”</p><p>“I suppose that’s all I can ask for,” Ratchet grumbles. Then, louder, he says, “You’re both free to go. Take the additives. Be safe. Don’t get caught.”</p><p>Jazz slides off the berth, stopping to grab the additives and put them in his subspace. When he has them all tucked away, he grabs Prowl’s arm and pulls him out of the clinic. It’s the first time that Jazz has touched Prowl since they’ve met. Prowl thinks that this might be a sign of Jazz warming up to him. It makes his spark warm. He’s not sure he’s ever had a friend before, other than Tumbler.</p><p>“Edge of Iacon,” Jazz reminds. “That’s where we’re heading. Keep your doorwings and helm down. We don’t need anyone looking at us.”</p><p>“Of course, Jazz,” Prowl agrees. “How long do we have to walk?”</p><p>Jazz tilts his helm to the side, considering for a moment, “Less than a joor if we don’t have to make any detours.”</p><p>Prowl relaxes. It has barely been four joors since they’d left. They had a while before bots started worrying about Prowl’s location.</p><p>“Thank you for doing this,” Prowl says.</p><p>Jazz grins up at him, “’Course. You aren’t so bad. I don’t regret it yet.”</p><p>“Nonetheless,” Prowl takes Jazz’s free servo with his own, “thank you. You are kinder than you have to be.”</p><p>Jazz stares at him for a moment. He squeezes Prowl’s servo in his. “You’re killing me, mech,” Jazz says, “making me feel guilty that I ever considered leaving you behind.”</p><p>Prowl hums. “I suppose you will never leave me behind then?” he jokes, though he fears his tone may be too flat.</p><p>To his relief, Jazz laughs, “You got it, Prowler. I won’t be leaving you anywhere.”</p>
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